


Stuck Like Glue

by FairytaleofNewDork



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fuckin vending machines, skye no, they'll eat your money they'll eat your arm, vending machines dont care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 04:17:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2296352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairytaleofNewDork/pseuds/FairytaleofNewDork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>/“So what’s up?” She asks, voice playful, as if the entirety of her left arm isn’t wedged awkwardly into the thin gap at the bottom of the vending machine. Jemma can’t help it when she snorts in response, prompting the other girl to grin wider./ In which skimmons meet at a vending machine, but mostly because Skye's an idiot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck Like Glue

She has to switch the light on for the stairs, hardly used at this time of night, before she trails down to the cafeteria. This late, the building is normally empty save for the janitors, but she and Fitz had opted to work through into the night.  They were both unwilling to travel in tomorrow and have to spend their Saturday working on simple but time-consuming samples for their respective projects.

Samples that weren’t even important anyway.

All was going well, albeit slowly, when her stomach had rumbled. Fitz hadn’t even looked up from where he stood across from her at his own work station, when she’d snapped off her gloves and placed her goggles down.

“Want anything from the machine?” She asked, tiredly as she rummaged for her purse in her bag.

“The usual." He replied, monotonously, focus still on accurately calibrating whatever small metallic item was in his hand.  

And that's how she ended up taking the stairs. Trailing down the empty corridor was eerie enough, clack of her shoes on the floor echoing loudly, but on nights like these she finds she prefers using the badly lit just-as-eerie stairs, than the elevators. The chance of being squeezed in awkwardly next to the janitors and their trolleys wasn't that large, but previous experiences had proved that the stairs were preferable. She certainly didn't want to make any forced pleasantries at this time of night.

She rubs a hand over her face as she pushes through the double doors to enter the cafeteria, determined to wipe any tiredness she feels away. It doesn't work. As she enters she hears the familiar low buzz of the machines, louder at this time, not drowned out by chatter and the general buzz of the always-occupied room. It's not until she rounds the corner and makes her way to where the small army of vending machines are clustered, that she realises she’s not alone.

At first she thinks the other girl is just sitting in front of the vending machine Jemma happens to want to use; perhaps too tired to move, a feeling Jemma finds she relates to. But then Jemma takes a couple of nervous steps forward, shoes tapping against the freshly cleaned vinyl floor.

At the sudden footsteps nearby her head snaps up from where she’d been leaning against the vending machine, wide brown eyes meeting Jemma's with a look of surprise. After a moment she smiles, sheepishly. 

Jemma assumes the smile is because she’s embarrassed to have been caught seemingly dozing against the machine, but the girl doesn’t bother to move at Jemma's appeance. Instead, she just looks uncomfortable, turning her head away from Jemma, as if they'd accidentally met eyes on a train. Not the cafeteria where she’s awkwardly slumped in front of the machine Jemma wants to use. Jemma can’t help the worry that shoots through her.

“Excuse me,” she starts, playing with the zip of her purse between her fingers. She frets for a moment, hoping she doesn't come off as rude for prying. “Are you- are you quite all right?”

She's startled when the girl laughs, a harsh, singular syllable that echoes in the empty room. After the bark of laughter she tips her head back with a heavy thunk against the machine. Jemma stares at her, horrified, but then the girl gives a dismissive wave of her hand, closing her eyes.

“Sorry- no- I’m fine really, don’t worry.”

Jemma's first thought is that her bizarre actions argues otherwise.

Her second thought is she doesn't know how to politely ask this strange girl to move so she can get around to buying some ridiculously overpriced food.

It feels like a minute later that she processes that the hand this mysterious girl had waved at her is on the wrong side of the vending machine. Her face morphs from concern and uncertainty to unimpressed exasperation in less than half a second. Definitely faster than she’d ever changed her expression with Fitz and _his_ (frequent) idiocy.

The girl peaks open an eye when she doesn't hear Jemma move away, and laughs again at the expression on Jemma’s face, a breathy chuckle, more like a real, uncontrollable noise than the earlier sound she had made. Jemma raises her eyebrows, but can’t help the smile that works itself onto her face. This girl, bangs mussed up, hair a mess, slumped against the machine, has somehow gotten her arm wedged into it and yet is merely laughing, completely amused.

When Jemma doesn’t say anything, unsure what _can_ be said in this situation, she flashes Jemma a charming smile.

“So what’s up?” She asks, voice playful and friendly, as if the entirety of her left arm isn’t stuffed at an awkward angle into the thin gap at the bottom of the vending machine. Jemma can’t help it when she snorts in response, prompting the other girl to grin wider.

“Oh you know, not much.” Jemma plays along. There’s something about beautiful mystery girl, and her charming manners and  sense of humour when she has her arm stuck- for god knows what reason- that Jemma can’t help but be entertained by. If it had been anyone else, Jemma is pretty sure she’d have went to go fetch a janitor by now to assist her with whatever she was trying to do. She’s pleased when mystery girl bites her lip in thinly concealed amusement. She really is very pretty... Jemma crosses her arms over her chest and scuffs a shoe against the floor, feeling nervous but continuing their charade. “I was just here to grab a snack, for my friend and me- late hours, you know?”

The girls amused expression transforms into a serious one, brows knitting together as she pouts and nods her head. “Mmhm, mhmm, late hours. Very lame. Funnily enough I was just here to _grab_ a snack too.”

Then they stare at each other, lips pursed in a silent match of who’ll break their little game by laughing first. They both dissolve into laughter at the same time, dark haired mystery girl shaking her head and looking away. Jemma ducks her head embarrassed as her twinkling laugh echoes around the quiet room, louder than the breathy laugh of the other girl.

“Sorry- I assume you wanted to use this big fella?” Skye says, using the arm in the vending machine to give it two friendly pats. Jemma laughs, nodding.

“Er- yeah,” She confesses with a shrug. “Though you've sort of foiled my plans.” She admits. Something about the other girl’s curious gaze looking up at her makes her insides turn to jelly and she finds herself glancing around the room for something to do. It looks different devoid of the usual hub-bub.

“It’s ok though,” Jemma says eventually, and when she finally looks back, the other girl is still watching her with a small smile. Jemma hooks her thumb over in the directions of the doors, “I can go get someone to help you out of there, if you want?”

Mystery girl shakes her head rapidly. “Oh no, no, no- thanks but… “She grimaces. “… Would it surprise you if I said this isn’t the first time this has happened to me?”

Jemma thinks she’s joking for a second but the girls face remains an embarrassed grimace, eyebrows upturned as if worried Jemma will judge her. Jemma laughs, incredulously. The girl bites her lip again, worrying it between her teeth, hiding a smile. 

"Would you be offended if I said I'm not surprised?" Jemma asks with a similar worried look.

The girl laughs again, a much more beautiful noise, like little tinkling bells."Nah, you're all right." The girl says, this time using the arm outside of the machine to wave Jemma's concern away. "I just have bad luck with Big Bill here." It takes Jemma a second to register she's referring to the machine, as she looks up at it fondly. "I'm like, 99% sure he's holding a grudge against me, because I kicked him this _one_ time. So now he refuses to give me anything." She raises her voice, directing it at the machine. " _Isn't that right Bill?!"_  

Jemma nods sagely, expression amused. "Right. Of course. The vending machine is called Big Bill. And he holds a grudge." 

The girl wrinkles her nose in distaste. "Well when you put it like that, you make me sound crazy." 

"Have you ever considered maybe you are?" Jemma offers arms folded. The girls only response is to tilt her head silghtly and nod, corners of her mouth largely down turned and eyebrows raised as if she had never considered that option prior to now.  Their teasing back and forth comes to a lull and, unsure of what else she can offer to do, and aware Fitz is probably waiting for upstairs, she wonders briefly if she should just leave the girl and get on with her samples sans snack. But she can't just leave her down here alone, stuck in the machine... she's work focused, sure, but she's not _cruel_. 

As if on cue with her concerns she hears a phone buzz, and she palms the pocket of her jeans where her phone is normally squeezed before she remembers it’s still upstairs in her bag. She’d not bothered to grab it. She was only going to be downstairs for two minutes, tops.

Clearly her initial plans hadn't factored in a cute girl getting stuck in the vending machine.

“That’s mine-“ The girl says, and sure enough, there’s a phone with a lit up screen sitting on her lap. She uses her right hand to pick it up and unlock it.

“It’s my guy-” She explains distractedly, eyes darting back and forth as she reads a message.

Jemma feels herself deflate a little. She knows it’s silly, really. What’s the chance a pretty girl who recklessly gets her whole arm stuck inside vending machines, would ever also be attracted to girls? The chances were one in a million. Or worse. Jemma wrinkles her nose in understanding (and annoyance, but she hopes it looks like understanding rather than a very immature “ew, boys”... which she also thinks, but that's not something she wants to project here).

“Oh, he’s coming to get you? Your boyfriend, I mean?” She finds herself asking, trying to seem friendly and not as put out as she actually feels. It's not like she was that bothered anyway. But it's like every pretty girl she meets already has a boyfriend. Mystery girl snaps her head up.

“What?” She asks, face the picture of disgust. “No- no, no, no – no _way_ – it’s just Ward-  he works here too, we’re not like an item or anything-“

“Oh.” Jemma says, cheeks flushing. The name rings a bell, but she can’t place a face to it. She rushes to explain, words coming out jumbled “I – I just – I thought- you said he was-“

“He is-“The girl says, cheeks equally pink. “I mean he _is_ my guy, but not like _my guy._ ”

Jemma looks down at her, feeling helplessly confused by the term. The emphasis the girl places on the term 'my guy' doesn't help explain anything. The girl takes a breath before she laughs at the absurdness of their awkward dance.

“I do this a lot.” She says, waving the arm in the machine around a bit, cheeks reddening further, and eyes focused on a spot in the ceiling above Jemma’s head. “He’s my guy for when I get stuck. Or when I'm too drunk to use my keys for my apartment. Or when i feel ill. I bother him a lot, basically. He’s on his way, that’s all…“

“Right.” Jemma says, but she still feels flushed. She can’t help the hopefulness that floods her chest. _He isn’t her boyfriend._ She wants to ask if she _has_ one but she doesn’t know how to do that without seeming embarrassingly interested in this girl with her messy bangs and big brown eyes. “I could- have a go?” She feels like that comes out wrong, because she quickly amends, “getting you out? It can’t be that difficult can it?”

The girls instant reaction is to shake her head and wave her still trapped arm again, dismissively, but Jemma feels like it’s more out of politeness and embarrassment than what she really wants, so she ignores her and takes five quick steps to the machine, folds her legs under her and then places her purse to her side. Maybe she wants to prove something to herself. Or maybe she just wants to spend more time around this funny ridiculous girl.

And maybe she just really wants this girl to like her. Besides, doing nice things is… nice. She doesn't _have_ to have an ulterior motive like, ‘you’re cute I want to get to know you’. She’s just being nice for the sake of being nice. Nothing else. What an absurd idea…  

The girl looks at her in surprise and continues to deny requiring assistance. “It’s okay, really, Ward will only take, like, 15 minutes. I’ve already been here for ages, and it’s not like I haven’t waited longer, really, you can just-“

It’s surprisingly simple now Jemma looks at it, and she feels bad for just standing around this perfectly good stranger all this time before now. The girl keeps her arm still as Jemma pushes on the little door her arm is being wedged by in two places now Jemma can see it up close. Opening it up gives her the space to twist her bicep – but then Jemma realises it’s not as simple as she first anticipated. Opening it gives her space for her bicep, but not her arm past the elbow. She gets stuck in two different places.

“How did you even get in here?” Jemma asks, amazed, focused on the task at hand.

The girl sounds like she too is focused on her arm when she replies, slowly, “Being… annoyingly persistent… is one of my best qualities. Ward will totally agree... I’m not just a pretty face, you know?”

Jemma tries not to agree too obviously, flustered when she nods. (It somewhat feels like confessing she does find her pretty, but she hopes the girl doesn't see through her flustered response).

It takes a little while, and whilst figuring out the best way to squeeze her arm out, Jemma finds she ends up half in the other girls lap. She tries not to feel embarrassed, but her palms sweat nervously regardless, and she’s suddenly very self-conscious about her appearance. She’s certain Fitz would _tell_ her if she looked ridiculously awful. He'd never been one to mix his words with her about her appearance, settling for simple phrases like "you look like crap" if he felt it was something she needed to hear. (For the record she never _did_ need to hear it, but that didn't stop him). Then again he was used to her looking not-at-her-best whilst working, so his opinions on her appearance are probably a bit off. Plus she didn’t go around sitting in his lap.

He's not the best judge, basically.

She tries not to be distracted by wanting to look to the side into the girls face, with her interesting shaped eyes and perfectly applied makeup.

Of course she only knows she has interestingly shaped eyes and perfectly applied makeup because she _does_ get distracted glancing to the side every now and again, until she catches the other girl glancing her way too.

 It takes only a short while for Jemma to figure out the best system is for her to gently push the little door, give the girl room to wiggle and then close it again. Mystery girl gives her a simple, “now,” once she’s moved enough but they eventually develop a rhythm, silently working as a team to free her arm and once they pass the girls elbow, it’s relatively easy for her to squeeze the rest of her arm out horizontally.

Jemma stands up first, the girl remaining on the floor, rubbing the red mark left on her arm. She gives Jemma her charming grin when she says, “ _Thank you_ ,” followed by low muttering as she looks at the mark on her arm, “…Ward won’t have to use that frickin’ crow bar…”

If the girl realises the way this alarms Jemma just a little, she doesn’t show it, because she hops to her feet quickly, and a second later, stretches her arms up above her head. There’s several distinct cracking noises as she does so, which Jemma almost informs her to get checked out, but the girl just sighs relieved as she stretches. Jemma takes this time to scan her up and down, noticing the girl is taller than her (unsurprisingly, really) and she’s skinny too, well formed with defined muscles in her arms. When she keeps her arms above her head, elbows to the sky but hands behind her head, Jemma notices how her t-shirt rides up a little revealing a slim section of a toned stomach...

Jemma doesn’t let her eyes linger, gaze snapping away to stare intently into the vending machine whilst the girl rolls her neck and stretches her arms this way and that. Looking at the vending machine without a beautiful girl in front of it allows Jemma to notice that there is indeed a packet of Haribo’s just barely holding on towards middle of the vending machine, refusing to drop to the bottom. Jemma rolls her eyes with a smile. Of course.

She pushes in the numbers for the Haribo’s along with her own change and sure enough, two of said items drop to the bottom. The girl turns to see Jemma holding both items out, but when she reaches for one, Jemma shakes her head, and thrusts the other packet towards her.

“For your trouble.” Jemma explains, feeling her cheeks go red.

She feels like she’s trying to bribe this girls affections with Haribo’s. Which, let’s face it, is kind of what she _is_ doing.  

“You already helped me, you don’t have to-“but then Jemma throws the packet at her chest before she can decline any further, forcing the other girl to clumsily catch the bag with her relatively quick reflexes. Jemma spins on her heel, going back to the vending machine to get Fitz’s choice of snack and decide on something for herself. Beautiful mystery girl just shakes her head and laughs at her side. Taking in the blush that has found its way to Jemma’s ears, she says, earnestly, “Thank-you, then. I’ll give them to Ward to apologize for making him come out all this way for nothing… “ She dawdles for a moment, Jemma keeping her eyes on the vending machine in front of her, watching the way the girls reflection hangs around, uncertain. “Uh, I guess I’ll… see you around?”

Jemma vaguely nods, watching Fitz’s snack drop down to the bottom. She completely misses the hopefulness in the other girl’s voice. “Yeah, see you.” She says, voice high and nervous, thoughts still on ‘ _you literally threw a packet of Haribo’s at her, you idiot’._

Instead the girl just sighs a little, smiling softly, before she looks down at the phone in her hands.

“I’ll just be going then.” She says, thumb hooked over her shoulder. “Have a nice night…”

Jemma’s response is a simple, “Goodnight,” but she doesn’t turn or wave goodbye or watch as the girl saunters casually around the corner. Doesn’t ask the girl her name, doesn’t ask if she _does_ have a boyfriend. Or if she wants one. Or if she doesn’t, and if that’s because she’d rather date girls. She can feel the way her cheeks are hot and her whole body feels on fire with liquid embarrassment.

She hears the door close and sighs loudly into the empty room.

She can’t believe she _threw_ a packet of Haribo’s at a gorgeous stranger who was stuck in a vending machine. _If Fitz finds out about this he’s going to have a bloody field day,_ she thinks.

After she plugs in the numbers for her snack, she looks at herself properly in the reflection of the machine for five seconds before she buries her face in her hands.

She looks a mess. An embarrassed, tired mess.

She groans, loudly, into her palms. What a disaster.

“Who _throws_ a packet of _anything_ at someone they don’t even know?” she ends up asking, muffled into her hands. Then, for good measure, she tilts her head back to ask the ceiling too. “ _Who does that?”_

She leans over, pushing her hand into the vending machine to collect her snack. “I should have just _asked,_ like it’s not a big deal - _‘Sorry, what’s your name? Oh really? What a beautiful name- it suits you perfectly – so you know, I was wondering do you fancy women, and if yes, is there any chance you could ever fancy me in a million years, because: I’m desperate, you’re gorgeous, I’d wait.’_ Ugh. Ridiculous, no. _”_ She grumbles away to herself, tucking her purse under her arm and taking a moment to recollect herself before returning to Fitz. She’s only slightly offended he hasn’t come looking for her. She must have been gone an age.

“… God I’m such an _idiot…_ should have asked her name at least... ” She mutters to herself, turning and heading around the corner to the doors. “Of course I just _happen_ to look like crap today, it couldn’t have been any other day- _I’m attractive damn it-“_

Of course she turns the corner to see mystery girl standing at the door.

She must go 100 different shades of pink because the girl gives her an amused look before she asks, “Sorry, what was your name? I didn’t get it. I always forget to ask important stuff like that.”

Jemma forgets how to speak. “I- you- I’m Jemma.” When the girl raises her eyebrows into her bangs, and tilts her head a little, Jemma adds. “Simmons. Jemma Simmons. I- 3rd floor.”

The girl grins. “Cool. Skye Avery. 5th.”

“Communications.” Jemma breaths in acknowledgement. She remains stock still, like a rabbit caught in the headlights. She almost thinks to relax when Skye seems to be just as friendly and cheery as usual believing she hasn’t just heard all the insane things that she’d been rambling on about to herself … but then no-longer-mystery girl bites her lip, before asking, in that same playful tone she had started their friendly interactions with:

“Good – because I was wondering, do you fancy women-?“

“Oh my _god,”_ Jemma groans loudly, throwing her head back and spinning herself around so she doesn't have to look Skye in the face as she laughs but persists anyway, raising her voice.

“and if you do-“

“Please- _please_ don’t,” Jemma continues, wishing she didn't have her hands full so she could cover her eyes and ears, face burning. If she could dig a hole and die in it, she would.

“ _If you do-“_ Skye repeats, again loudly, unwilling to let this go, “do you fancy me?”

“I think I hate you.” Jemma calls out behind her. It feels strange, saying this to a stranger (or at least, not Fitz) but there’s something about Skye and the way she’s enjoying mercilessly teasing Jemma that makes her think she won’t mind in the slightest. “For the record, that’s _not_ what I said-“

Skye just laughs.

*

When she gets back to Fitz he barely seems to even recognise how long she’d been away, and frowns at her when she rapidly tells him everything that had just occurred, a string of digits drawn in messy blue biro on the back of her thumb.

When his only response is, "So did you get the food?” she doesn’t feel so bad for throwing sweets at _him._

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently: "the first documented vending machine dates from about 215 B.C. , when the mathematician Hero invented a device that accepted bronze coins and dispensed holy water in the temples of Alexandria, Egypt." Disclaimer: That might be internet bullshit. Who knows. Everything on the internet is a surprise. 
> 
> The title "Stuck Like Glue" is because of Sugarland's song because I was going through my very few songs on my itunes and thought 'what songs relate to being stuck...?' and so I literally typed in 'stuck' - because wow - i'm a smart cookie- and I just- it made me laugh because I'm lame... That song is nothing to do with getting stuck in vending machines, fyi, if you've never heard it before.


End file.
